


My Light

by TheProperLexicon



Category: Tin Man (2007)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Gen, Mischief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheProperLexicon/pseuds/TheProperLexicon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was doing it deliberately, he knew. Intentionally making it so that she was constantly on his mind; she would leave a shawl on the floor outside his chambers, or a slipper where he patrolled in the garden. He never returned the items to her, hoping that one day she would just run out of spare clothes to leave places and be forced to stop or go naked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Light

Palace life was not just dull, compared to life on the Other Side it was downright stagnant. The weeks since the eclipse had dragged by, and she had done all that she could to entertain herself while her mother and father pulled the kingdom back under their control. Azkadellia had stepped down completely, hiding herself away, brushing out her long curls and refusing to wear make-up. She looked like her old self again, sweet and quiet and strong willed as always. Oftentimes DG would stumble across her sitting quietly by the windows, watching the sunlight play on the lakes around Finaqua. She would sidle up to her sister and sit beside her, reaching for her hand. Azkadellia would take DG’s hand in hers and smile.

DG had regained all of her memories of her childhood before being brought to the Other Side, an she was employing all that she knew about palace politics to renew the staff’s opinion of her sister. They went everywhere together, talking as they had before the Dark Witch had taken over. She held hands, letting the light flow between them. At first, people would duck around corners to avoid them. After a few days, they would no longer run, though they press themselves against the walls as the girls passed them. Now they were nodding at them, not quite grimacing when Azkadellia nodded back.

After two weeks, Azkadellia could walk the halls alone without chasing off all the staff and DG retired to the library to study up on what she had missed during her fifteen annuals on the Other Side. It was here that Cain found her. “Congratulations, Princess,” he said softly. She looked up in surprise, her eyes questioning. “Your sister. You did that.” DG hitched a shoulder and closed her book. “The staff, they don’t fear her. The people may never love her the way they love you, but she is coming back slowly.” DG nodded, watching him. “What is it?”

“Why are you still here, Mr. Cain?” she whispered. He froze, tilting his head to stare at her. He was clutching his hat in his hands, worrying at the edge of it. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she rushed on. “It’s just that you have Jeb back now, and the O.Z. is safe. Why are you hanging around here?”

Now it was his turn to hitch a shoulder. “Jeb took his men North to spread the news of the Witch’s defeat. I figured I could do some good here.” Now she rose, brushing out the skirt of her pale blue gown. His eyes hardened as she deliberately set her book on the chair she vacated and lifted her gray-blue eyes to meet his.

“What kind of good?” she whispered, stepping slowly toward him. He took a timid step back. It was unexpected, the look of uncertainty that flitted across his face. “Mr. Cain?” she continued, still moving toward him.

“Well,” he gulped. “The city is still teeming with dangerous types until the Queen can get it under her control. I’m not sporting tin anymore, but I figured I could make sure you and your sister were safe.”

“So,” she murmured, so close to him that her skirt brushed the tops of his shoes. “You’re like my bodyguard?” She practically growled the last word. He faltered and stepped back before nodding. Her hands worked without her permission, reaching up and fisting around the lapels of his ever-present duster. His ice blue eyes widened to saucers as he tried to back away; she held him fast. “Mr. Cain,” she continued, dropping her voice. “Be careful what you ask for.” Then she leaned up and brushed her lips against his cheek in a chaste kiss before releasing him and practically skipping away.

Once alone Cain rolled his eyes to the heavens and sighed. “Well played, Princess,” he muttered, flopping his hat back on his head.

 ***

She was doing it deliberately, he knew. Intentionally making it so that she was constantly on his mind; she would leave a shawl on the floor outside his chambers, or a slipper where he patrolled in the garden. He never returned the items to her, hoping that one day she would just run out of spare clothes to leave places and be forced to stop or go naked.

But one afternoon on patrol in the garden she was waiting for him. She sat on a stone bench surrounded by roses, singing softly under her breath. He paused at the edge of the clearing, watching as her hands moved dutifully over the pad of paper on her lap. She was singing something about being over the rainbow and he could not keep himself from holding his breath to listen to her. The charcoal pencil in her hands drifted lightly over the paper, caressing it lovingly. He must have shifted, for something beneath his foot crunched and he cursed himself as the words died on her tongue with a gasp. Her eyes darted up and upon seeing him, she pulled the sketchpad close to her body.

“Cain!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing red. “What are you doing here?”

“Patrol,” he answered as succinctly as he could. “But you know that.”

She tilted her head, still clutching the sketchpad to her. “No…” she trailed off, her wide blue eyes filling with confusion. “I didn’t know you patrol here. I usually come out here for peace and quiet. I never would have… If I had known… I wouldn’t have chosen…” She was flustered, he could tell. A secret part of him enjoyed the way the flush was spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her delicate ears and down that long, graceful throat to the swell of her breasts. He had to tear his eyes away and lick his lips before he could calm himself.

“What’s going on, DG?” he asked when he could find his voice.

“Nothing,” she answered meekly, resolutely closing her sketchpad without revealing the subject. “I should be going.” She unfolded her legs and slipped back into the plain black slippers on the ground beneath the bench.

“Aren’t you going to leave something behind?” he asked, arching a pale blonde eyebrow at her.

She froze, startled. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been leaving clothes all over the palace, DG,” he answered, his voice dark. “In all the places I’m going to be.”

“No I haven’t,” she drawled out before realization dawned. “Oh! No! I thought the servants were losing my laundry! Oh Cain!” A laugh burbled up, light and springy in the fresh air. His heart constricted, that laugh was enough to melt the rusted heart of any Tin Man. She giggled, setting herself into motion again. Frustrated with being laughed at, he reached out as she passed him and snatched the sketchpad from her hands. She gasped, reaching for it, but his broad shoulder shielded his hands as they opened it. “Cain! No!” She grabbed for it desperately, but he turned again, successfully blocking her as he rifled through the pages.

The first few were the different parts of the castle around Finaqua, a sketch of Azkadellia sitting in the window seat, one of Ahamo at his desk, staring up at the ceiling. Five pages in the drawings started to change. There was one of Cain standing stoically at the wall during dinner, one of Cain sitting in a chair in the library, with his hat pulled down over his eyes. One of Cain’s back to the artist, the sharp line of his shoulders and the curl of his hair at the neck. One of Cain staring right at the artist, the expression in his grayscale eyes unreadable. The last drawing in the book was the one she must have been working on, it was half finished with the light lines merely shadows of what it would be. The only thing that was finished was his eyes. They were still in grayscale but there was something in them that made his heart race in his chest. The subject in the sketch was staring at the artist with frank, unadulterated adoration.

“DG,” he whispered. “What’s this about?” She did not reply. He turned his head to face her, she was gone. He closed the sketchpad and turned his face up to the sky. Feeling the sun on his skin, he sighed into the nothingness. “Oh, Princess. What are we going to do about this?”

 ***

It took an hour for him to find her; twenty minutes of which consisted of him fetching her lost apparel from its hiding place. When she sheepishly opened the door to her chambers her eyes widened to find her pile of clothes resting in his arms, topped with her sketchpad.

“I can explain,” she whispered.

“Can I come in?” he countered. She nodded, stepping aside. He entered her chambers, thankful that they were larger than his. She had two separate rooms, a living area and a bedchamber. He would not have been able to have this conversation in her bedroom. “Look, DG,” he began, holding out the piled of neatly folded laundry and her sketches. “I’m sorry I took your drawings.”

She accepted the pile and turned away to set them on a footstool behind her. She kept her back to him when she asked, “Are you?”

The question caught him off guard, uncertain as to her meaning. Then it hit him. She had pushed so much emotion into those drawings; him seeing them was like looking into her soul. He gulped. Answering this question would reveal things about him that he had intentionally ignored for months. In their race across the O.Z. he had pushed them down with daring heroics, in the days and weeks after the overthrow of the Witch he had locked them up because she was always with her sister. In the months following those weeks he had ignored them because he was certain she was toying with him. Now, as he stood with her back to him and her heart splashed all over the paper sitting harmlessly on the stool, they came spiraling in like a travel storm of emotion.

“No,” he whispered, his breath catching on his lips at the exhalation. She froze. The even sway that her body perpetually made paused and she inhaled sharply. “I’m not really sorry, DG.” She did not turn, but her gentle sway resumed. He wanted to reach out and touch her but he held back. “Look, I have some stuff I need to say and some of it’s going to just happen. I haven’t really planned for any of this, and I’m not good with words.” She nodded, still not turning, and her head tilted down to allow her to stare at the ground.

He began. “When I first met you I was angry, broken. I wanted nothing but to find Zero and kill him. But I couldn’t just let you go off into the O.Z. alone. Then, when the Mystic Man told me who you were I knew I would never be able to let you wander off until the Witch was dead.” He took a deep breath and plowed on. “It was a fluke finding out about-” he broke off for a moment, steadying himself. “Adora.” Her shoulders rounded a little, and he lifted his eyes to the ceiling as he continued. “But to be honest, at that point, I was already so confused. You were so compassionate, so caring. You didn’t even know me and you gave me so much of yourself. Kind words, reassurances. You were never frightened, even when I stumbled out of a tin suit, a broken, fraying man bent on revenge.” He could not look at her. “I don’t know when it happened, Princess, but somewhere along the Old Road I lost my heart, and you picked it up and put it in your pocket.” He closed his eyes and jammed his hands in his pockets, forcing himself on. “I thought I was heartless, but I was wrong. I just gave it away.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “You are my light. And I never told you. Because I’m just an old tin man that followed you around the O.Z. I never thought-” He broke off as he felt it. A timid touch on his chest, right over his rapidly thundering heart. His eyes crashed downward and met those perfect sapphire pools. “DG…”

“Shhh,” she whispered, lifting herself up on her tiptoes. His eyes widened imperceptibly as she wrapped her fingers into his vest and pushed herself against his lips. He hesitated for a moment before groaning and lifting his hands to rest at her hips. It was all the encouragement she needed as she trailed her hands up to his shoulders and balanced herself so that she could kiss him more forcefully. His hands slipped around her waist, pulling her tightly against him and she squeaked before settling in; every curve and hollow of her fitted perfectly against the planes and angles of him. He groaned as his hands traveled up to get lost in her hair and he pulled her closer, forgetting everything but her lips on his and her fingers on the back of his neck.

When they finally broke apart they were gasping for air, and her lips were red and swollen from their fervor. “Cain,” she whispered, leaning her head against his chest. His hands drifted down to rest on her hips, to both steady her and keep her fastened to him in some way. He knew she could hear it, the pounding of his heart, and for the first time since he felt it that fact did not terrify him. “I should have done that months ago,” she continued.

He smiled into her hair, bending his head to kiss the crown on her head. “If you had, I probably wouldn’t have known what to do.”

She lifted her face to his, those eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh,” she growled, in that same voice all those weeks ago in the library. “I don’t doubt that you know exactly what to do.” He flushed red to his ears as she pulled him down by his neck and kissed him again.


End file.
